Failure, and the Work of the Hands
I woke up this morning thinking about failure — specifically, the kind that happens in the workshop. Any workshop day, for any craftsperson is punctuated by these little failures at regular intervals. A handplane reveals a weakness in the timber. A detail, so vivid in the mind, falters in practice. A prototype begins to misbehave. These aren’t rare occurrences, they’re regular, expected. They’re part of the rhythm.
Any experimentation with finish, structural testing or design ideas is populated, smothered (enriched?), in failure of some sort. And without them we would miss the most majestic feeling you can encounter in the shop – triumph.
Over time, my reaction to these events has changed, my approach has hopefully matured, and so I’ve learned to work with them, and around them, amongst them, to create some of my best work.
The gardener prunes away uncooperative branches, just as the mathematician turns away from an inelegant formula. It’s a willingness to hang in a sort of suspense that allows a songwriter to enjoin a verse to a chorus.
And so, I remind myself to be brave. To trust the process. To remember that without the failing, there is no triumph.
There is a poem by Dylan Thomas, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night – comes to mind. It is never far from my thoughts and, although not specifically related to craft, beautifully sums up the plight of us humans, raging against the dying of the light.
Dusty Wizards
I belong to a neat little woodworking crew up here in Northland called the Dusty Wizards. Last Sunday, Les and Tish from Under the Table Woodworking hosted a gathering.
There was some marvelous work on display. Brian Simms shared his hall table built with his home felled Blackwood (the same timber I use frequently), Brett Sutherland his marvellous carvings, Alby Hall taught us about turning and Tish talked us through her process to create incredibly detailed paintings in acrylics.
It was generous, warm, and inspiring. Thank you Les and Tish.
Homestyle Magazine Cover Feature
I was pleasantly suprised last week to find my Elodie side table on the cover of Homestyle Magazine. This was part of an interior fit out by Karla from Houseparty Interiors. Photography by Adrian Vercoe. The table really looks splendid in that spot, and what a view..
River Salvaged Totara
In the last few days I had the pleasure of making and installing dovetail keys in my client supplied Totara slab. You wouldn’t believe it but the slab and the keys are the same timber.
The dark keys are made from river salvaged Totara, sourced right here in Northland. These trees were felled during the gum digger days, back when timber was floated down rivers as a form of transport. Some of these logs sank to the bottom and remained there for over a hundred years. After spending time in the depths, the timber takes on a remarkably dark, greenish hue and it sets of the grain in an almost greenstone like manner.
I now have access to these timbers and am very interested to incorporate them into a piece. You can see them pictured below looking sensational against the amber Blackwood.
If you have anything in mind, let me know.
What I’m Listening To:
My friend Tim from Taus Ceramic put me on to what has to be my find for the year. Richard Dawson and his new album End of the Middle. It’s quirky, ridiculous, but undeniably lovable. The constant key changes and unpredictable structures might not be everyone’s cup of tea but listening to it makes me proud to be a human.
What I’m Reading:
John Steinbeck – East of Eden. After a period of indulging in an embarrassingly long run of self help type books, I’ve decided to revisit my old favourite stories. Steinbeck’s East of Eden is one of them. The novel chronicles interconnected and often woefully complicated family life in the Salinas valley of California. There is a charm and sensitivity about Steinbeck’s writing that cuts deep, it really moves me.
Do not go gentle into that good night- Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.